Saturday, June 11, 2011

I Wouldn't Pick A Choir Boy To Lead Me Out Of My Storms.

A Choir Boy Can’t Lead Me Out Of My Storm!


If I lived on an island, I wouldn't concern myself with the opines of others.  If I lived on an island, all by myself, I could name my own streets and point them in the “right” direction. I wouldn't have to live in a cabin in the sky, if I lived on an island.

No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, the world is less, as well as if a promontory were, as well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

It tolls for thee, it tolls for me. Yet, at times, I do live on an island. However, when I go home to my island, I soon hear the voices of the mainland. It's a mean game I play, playing around in my mind. My mind is my castle, my domain and my sanctuary, why do I pass the keys to strange gatekeepers? What are those people, places and things doing for me and to me?

If I didn't look on the other side of the fence, would I come to the conclusion that my grass wasn't as green as "that" grass? More importantly, would I worry about the color of my grass, if I lived on an island, all by myself? But I do live on an island, sometimes. When I go home to my island, a place of comfort in which I live alone, why do I harbor the putrid flavors of the mainland, those other folks, who many, I do not respect?

Not a single soul has walked on my island. No one has walked in my shoes. Who can I ask for help?

A choir boy may be the quintessential image of a pure soul, but can he help me when my storms visit my island? He doesn't have a road map of my island. He has never walked on these street, in these shoes. How could he lead me through the back roads of my mind? He's never been there? He couldn't have ventured my way because this is my island and no one has ever been “here“.

I know another storm is coming, that's inevitable. Should I lock my doors, close my shutters and turn off my mind?

I am left to wonder which way should I go? Should I go that way, his way, her way or their way or let my conscience be my guide? Should I listen to those that have arrived? But, who are they? Or should I listen to those that are going though their storms, and those who have walked on an island that’s very similar to mine?

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